To whoever found my blog by searching for “swing dancing minions“: I salute you, and would like to meet you. However, you can’t have mine.
I need to stop hurting myself. This morning, in short succession I managed to give myself a nasty “paper” cut on one thumb with a foam core sign, and then half smash the little finger of the other hand in between my desk chair and the sharp edge of my desk. The resulting scrape is fairly impressive, though so far it hasn’t bruised as much as I thought it would.
I don’t really have any news to relate, nor any particularly witty thoughts at the moment. There’s a post percolating about scents, but it needs a little time before it’s ready. I’m tempted to respond to the various posts about the single life I’ve been reading in the Catholic blogosphere lately (Mrs. Darwin, Siris, some others that I can’t be bothered to track down at the moment), but those thoughts have yet to gel either, so I’m left with a general feeling of crankiness which, while it may portend something fairly cool sooner or later, isn’t much use right now.
Mostly what I’m thinking about right now is (in this general order) Christmas presents, specifically the ones that aren’t done yet, the Very Special Lucy & The Auteur Dinner Party which is now in less than a week, and exactly how far do I want to go in decorating my house for Christmas. I had had magnificent plans for Christmas decorating at work. I figured this was a rare opportunity to do things the way I wanted them, free from any traditions of “every year we do this.” I had plans for paper snowflakes of all shapes and sizes, paper stars, garlands of paper dolls, and cotton balls strung on fishing line for “snow.” I was going to put out the Nativity set which I bought as soon as I found out I got this job, and had been saving ever since. And then came the word that the official policy for that hospital is no holiday decorations of any kind in any public space except the one big official Christmas tree in the lobby.
So now I’m left with all these frustrated decorating impulses. I’m torn between wanting to then do all the decorating at home that I can’t do at work, and being so annoyed that I don’t really decorate at all. The latter option would probably please my roommates. They get a little twitchy this time of year, and I think would honestly prefer that home remain a refuge free from any holiday reminders whatsoever. Last year I put up a few pine garlands, and I think that was bordering on too much for them. So I’m not sure what I’m going to do. I need to have some decorations up, but probably not too much. And, honestly, I won’t have time to do much more than think about it.
I would say that I’ll let you know when my thoughts become more coherent, but if I actually waited that long, you might never hear from me again. So, um, I’ll just say that I’ll let you know how it all turns out. That’s much more realistic!